The Truth Needs No Colors
by Lastingimage24
Summary: Sometimes we're so busy trying to fill in another's status quo, we forget that the ones we love don't need the truth adorned with such decorative taste. This is the story of an odd unicorn struggling to find a friend's place in the world.


Sketch nearly tripped over his picture of a very late bunny and nearly knocked another of a saucy mare with his muzzle. After regaining his balance, his hoof fell straight through the canvas yet another sketch. He winced before peeking at the broken canvas with one eye, and sighed in relief after realizing it was just the one of a bowl of fruit. He knew it was cliche, but he was bored and it seemed like good practice. He was just glad it wasn't one of the pictures he particularly cared for.

It sucked being clumsy, especially since there was sharp utensils literally everywhere in his room. After sighing again, this time in shame, he decided he should take a small break from his canvas-covered walls and paper-covered desks to go splash some water on his face. He wasn't the best sleeper so he consistently had to do this to keep himself awake when he wanted to not pass out. It was only 9:00 PM. Not even grade schoolers were asleep. His mom had it chalked up to insomnia which he begrudgingly agreed with. Giving a name to problems just made them worse, but you can't argue with facts.

Taking a hazy stroll to the bathroom and dunking his muzzle in the ice cold water gave him the rush he needed. Only, as he turned off the faucet, he heard something. His ear involuntarily twitched as he turned his head to make sounds enter his ear better. He stood absolutely still for only just a moment when another noise was made, apparently from the kitchen downstairs.

 _Clank._

His heart began pounding as he realized someone might be in the house. He instinctively backed away from the door only for him to trip on the restroom rug and fall on his haunches. He was still for longer than he could perceive before deciding to stand up. _No,_ he thought, _it's just your imagination Sketch. Your lack of sleep is just screwing with your head. You're scaring yourself._

Despite succeeding in convincing himself, his heart disagreed. It was still beating faster than he could count. Deciding against rotting in the bathroom for the rest of his life, he resolved to reassure that there was no one else in the house by an investigation with his own eyes. He slowly creaked open the door and lightly stepped outside, down the stairs, and to the kitchen.

But halfway there, he was paralyzed by the fact that _he could see._ Normally that wouldn't be news, but it 9:00 PM and he never turned on the lights. He scanned the kitchen and caught the dim rays of light coming from the kitchen, _where he had heard the noise._ With hesitance, he inched closer and closer to the tiled kitchen, past the sofa and large armchair that occupied the living room. He turned the corner to find...

The refrigerator open. Yup. The fridge. Sketch emptied his lungs, realizing only then he had been holding his breath. He smiled dumbly and approached the fridge to close it. As it slammed shut, something occurred to him. _Wait... who opened it?_ He turned to inspect the rest of the kitchen, at least, until two big, upside-down, glowing, yellow, feral-looking eyes took up his entire visage. He stood, speechless, unable to react. Until, of course, the eyes spoke.

"Boo."

Sketch screamed. He guessed his shout was very, very loud, but the adrenaline rushing to his ears made it quite hard to hear. He tried to back up, but instead he bumped into the fridge causing a bag of flour to drop on his head. It landed with a muffled _thumpf_ and made him lose his balance, forcing him to topple to the floor on his side. He panicked and tried to scramble up to his feet, but he slipped on the powder and landed on his haunches one again. He scooted back until the cupboard behind him forced him to stop. He could not control his breathing and he lost almost all his motor function. He simply chose to accept his fate, whatever would happen.

Then, she laughed.

Yes, _she_ did. "Pbbthhh, hahahahahahahahah! Oh sweet CELESTIA that was amazing." Her voice was deeper than an average mare's but was smooth as silk, and impossible to confuse for a stallion's. As she spoke, she expertly dropped from hanging upside down and landed on all fours with only a couple milliseconds as a grace period. "You know, I knew you were going to be a complete punk, but I didn't expect..." She gestured towards everything with her legs, "THAT!" Her pattern of speaking was strange, at best. She put emphasis on random words and spoke slowly, as if she was reciting poetry. Even with his eyes adjusting, he could barely make out the form of her body, only being able to tell it was in fact, equine, and even that was a stretch. Still relishing at the spectacle, she laughed some more, putting a hoof to her head in an attempt to contain herself.

Her laughing actually put Sketch at ease, as it proved that she had no malicious intent... well at least, not intending harm. His heart rate and breathing slowed as he just watched her laugh. It almost made him want to laugh.

Almost.

The strange pony finished off her long laugh with fits of chuckling, before settling herself with a big sigh. When she was finished, Sketch gathered the courage to speak up. "W... Who are you?"

"Me? Oh, I am just a humble guest at this very fancy home of yours, alright." She chuckled, its effect more chilling this time around. "Nothing more."

"What are you doing here?" Sketch had finally recovered enough to stand, although his knees shook from the effort.

"Oh don't you worry, little boy. Messing with your perfect little life is the _furthest_ thing from my mind right now." As she said this, she sashayed towards Sketch and put her muzzle right up to his. She stayed there long enough for him to feel her breathing and for her glowing eyes to nearly blind him. She abruptly turned away before he could react however. From that little confrontation, he could see that she was only just as tall as he was, and he inferred they were about the same age, more or less.

"I'm... not a little boy," he said, a little disappointed.

She chuckled again, "Yeah, right." She opened the fridge.

That was when the truth blew up in Sketch's face. The mare in front of him was relatively normal at first sight, sporting dark purple fur and navy blue hair. Aside from her odd eyes and apparent fangs, she would have been just... above average. But plastered to her sides were not feathered wings, no, they were... _bat wings_.

Silence stole Sketch's words. He gaped continuously at the strange mare, unable to do much but stare.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk ,tsk," she clicked her tongue as she inspected the fridge. "What to eat? What. To. Eat." After scrutinizing the contents for a few moments, she frowned. "What the hell is all this crap? You got no food, man!"

"Food?" Sketch asked, his brain function slowly returning. The batpony had left the fridge to investigate the pantries for dry foods. She had left the fridge door open, so he had gone to close it. He was running on automatic habits right now since he was still a bit shaken at the batpony's appearance. He took a look at the contents at the fridge himself and was confused to see a plethora of eggs, tomato sauce, tortillas, various fruits, etc. More than enough to make some kind of meal. He closed it and remembered how dark it actually was. His next move was to turn on the kitchen light.

"Yes! Sustenance! Grub! Other words for food! _You don't have anything._ " She was quickly opening and closing all of the cupboards she possibly could, the speed of which accelerated as the number of cupboards rose. Sketch flipped the switch to the kitchen light. "Aww, bitch!" the batpony screamed as a cupboard whacked her in the face when she struggled to adjust to the sudden change in light. "Don't be doing stuff like that, man!"

His thoughts were still a garbled mess, so he just said, "Your ears are fluffy." Her ears were, in fact, really fluffy.

The batpony arched her brow and glanced at him. Smirking, she asked, "What?"

Realizing what he said was really out of place, he chose to ignore it and walked up to her. "We have a lot of food."

She quizzically glared at him for a few moments before responding. She began looking through the pantry again. "No you don't. You have nothing to just _eat_. I mean," she brought out a small box. "The hell am I going to do with bread crumbs? Sniff 'em?"

"They're for-" After coming under the full recognition that she was in fact not dangerous, he became more firm as he trotted up to her. "They're for making cooked foods crunchy."

"SNOORE," she exclaimed, turning her head fast enough for her long-locked hair to nearly whip him. "Why cook things when you can just eat something pre-made?"

"You mean processed foods?" _I'm arguing with a home invader._ "Because home cooked meals taste better and are less hazardous to your health."

The batpony made a fart noise and walked away, heading for the fridge again. Sketch stayed behind and stared at her, taking in her appearance without being freaked the hell out. He noticed just how faded the purple of her fur was; it was almost grey. The same with her hair, it looked a lot more black with the lights on. It was strange, like just the opposite of a normal pony...

 _...Fluffy ears._

Something about her attitude struck a chord in the back of his head. What was her motive for all of this? "...What are you?" Sketch asked sincerely.

"Sentient," she said as-a-matter-of-factly. She turned her head and looked at him seriously. "That's all you need to know."

That answer was disappointing for Sketch. He really found himself curious of this... creature. "Well, uh... can you at least tell me your name?"

She looked at him again, but faced the fridge again in silence. After a couple moments of this, she sighed and stretched. "Well you have absolute jack. Thanks for nothing. See you never."

Sketch was a bit taken aback at this abrupt change of heart by the batpony. However, he was completely prepared to let her leave, for his life to return to that same boring routine. For everything to go back to normal, and to forget he had ever met this mare. But... something hit him. She was looking for food.

Just... food. What does that mean? It means she's hungry. She was hungry...

It didn't matter that she was abnormal, and it didn't matter how Sketch felt. All that mattered was that a pony was hungry, and he could change that, when no one else could. She'd never had a decent meal from the sounds of it...

"Wait."

The batpony stopped, sighed, and turned. "What?"

"I'll cook you something." Then, quickly, he thought of something. "If you tell me your name, nothing else."

The batpony opened her mouth, ready to protest and refuse. But her stomach growled, and she stopped to contemplate his offer. After mulling it over for a few moments she groaned. "Auugggghhhh. Fine." She looked away and glanced at him with one eye through her hair. It was the first humbling sign from her. Begrudgingly, she said, "Trust."

* * *

Trust.

Trust.

That was such a cool name! Sketch had no idea why she was so reluctant to say it. Still, the idea that he was cooking a meal for a mare that had broken in his home with the intent to steal from him was silly, at least just in concept. He knew he had nothing to fear about her though... well one thing _did_ concern him. Was she a carnivore... or an omnivore? It seemed like she would be, with the fangs and all. Then again, don't fruit bats only eat... fruit? Or something? _Eh, whatever._

"Is it done yet?" Trust whined, looking over the boiling water, frowning.

"It'll be done when it's done." Sketch felt compelled to whack her in the face with the ladle. "And don't put your face over the water like that. It's dangerous."

"Auugggghhhh!" she groaned. "Why does it have to take soooo long."

"If you want it to come out good you have to wait." Sketch resisted the urge to facehoof and continued stirring. "Now will you just sit down."

"Sit? Why?" she asked sharply.

Sketch beamed uncharacteristically. "'Cause it's done!" In front of him sat a freshly boiled vegatable soup, with all the seasonings and flavors one could possibly want.

The look of unprecedented joy on her face was quite remarkable. But as soon as it came, it vanished. "Gee, thanks. Only took like, four hours."

"It took _a_ hour." Sketch deadpanned, taking out a few bowls and preparing it on the nearby table. It was a strange sight to see Trust sit. Her impatient attitude betrayed the fact she could clearly restrain herself when she wanted to. Plus the wings, fangs, and eyes still looked unnatural as all hell. "Here."

Trust had already began to lower her head into her bowl, but Sketch immediately stopped her. "Use a spoon." She glared at him in anger and hesitantly picked up the spoon that sat across from her. Sketch had to physically try to not laugh. She just looked so angry when she was so cool before.

Despite the fact she probably never used them, she was competent enough to know how to properly use silverware, although somewhat clumsily.

Her frustrated disposition melted away when she took her first bite. She simply just looked at the meal in confusion, trying to comprehend what she had just shoved into her gullet. A bit of time later, she had begun to eat again, this time calmer. But also pretty damn fast.

Neither of them spoke for a time. Sketch was content sitting across from her watching her gulp down spoonful by spoonful of the veggie soup. A sense of pride washed over him, even though he knew she probably would've liked anything he had put on a plate. She was nearly through when she slowed significantly, glancing at Sketch as she ate. They locked eyes for just a moment or two before she spoke.

"In all this... _confusion_ , I never asked. What's your name, kid?" Trust stared at him with solemn intent, something that confused his original impression of the girl. She was actually showing to be a bit reserved and humble, two things he did not assume she would have been capable of. It took him a while to answer because of this.

"Uhh... Art Sketch." He rubbed the back of his mane apprehensively. "But everyone just calls me Sketch."

"Hmm..." she grunted and continued eating. "Do you live alone?"

"...No?" _Why does that matter? What would she say if I said yes?_

She was surprised when she heard this. Her (fluffy) ears perked up as she stared at him like a suspicious doe. "Then who do you live with? Are they here?"

"I live with my parents, and no... they left yesterday to visit my sick aunt. Me and her were never close, so I decided to stay behind..." Sketch wasn't sure why, but it was getting difficult to answer her questions. There was something piercing about them. Of course this difficulty was abolished when she started laughing again.

"Hah! You still live with your parents? Loser." The smile returned to her face and she started gulping her soup again. Her change in mood was so drastic he couldn't help but smile. He thought he was making progress with her when she began being more reserved and obedient, but there was a comforting sense of familiarity as she teased him that put him at ease.

"I'm seventeen," he defended lightheartedly. "I can't legally own property yet!"

"Tch, that's no excuse." She slyly put one last spoonful in her mouth and left it in there and gave him a taunting glare. They both laughed and it was... natural. That is, until Trust grunted and dropped her spoon. "Oop."

"Are you okay?" Sketch was surprised at the amount of concern in his voice.

"Uh... yeah," she assured with a nervous smile. Her eyes shifted to the left, then right, and asked, "Where's your bathroom?"

"Err," Sketch dumbly remarked before pointing upstairs with his hoof. "Upstairs at the end of the hall."

She bolted from her chair and dexterously navigated up the stairs while flying. Sketch simply just couldn't keep up; she was too fast. She was already in the bathroom by the time he got up there. Out of respect, he waited at the other end of the hall so he wouldn't hear anything.

He couldn't even begin to imagine what would happen next, and he didn't know what to think for the first time in his life. It was invigorating.

And so was she.

* * *

"Whoo, you might not want to go in there for a while!" she said, waving her hoof in the air a few times.

"Classy," Sketch deadpanned. To her credit, she might've been abruptive and unpredictable, but she was never very crude until now.

She was trotting towards Sketch until something caught her eye. It was a small canvas on a door next to the bathroom. In highly stylized lettering that was sharp and bubbly, "Sketch" adorned the canvas.

"S... Skeh... Skesshh. Sketch." Trust had trouble reading the canvas, and although it was written in an artsy format, it shouldn't have been that hard to read. Sketch came under the conclusion she probably wasn't that educated, and a pang of sadness sounded within him, if only for just a moment. "This your room, hotshot?"

"Er, yeah."

"Awesome." Without much warning, she began to reach for the door. Sketch's eyes shot open, and he took off for the door. He used his body as a shield to separate Trust from the room. "Hey, what gives?"

"Uhh, you can't go in here, it's my room!" he chuckled overtly after saying that, as if it was enough justification. Trust smiled and arched her brow.

"Oh yeah? Watch."

She began trying to walk straight through him as though he just wasn't there. He was shocked at how strong she was, her walking nearly tipped him over alone. "S-stop! It's priv-"

"OO-WOPE," Trust shouted as, in an incredible display of flexibility, juked around to his left and immediately climbed over him as he moved to block her. She laughed as he fumbled completely to the ground in a broken mess of appendages. "HA! Easy..."

Trust stopped and gaped at the spectacle before her. Dozens of sketches littered the walls and floors with every type of medium and utensil. Pens, pencils, crayons, pastels, colored pencils, paper, canvas, construction paper, cardboard... everything. "...peasy."

Sketch sat in the doorway facing away from Trust and to the ground. There was a long silence. "Yeah," he finally said. "I know... it's a little..."

"AMAZING!" Trust shouted, causing him to jump out of his skin. "HOE-LEE DAMN, DUDE!" Giddily, the batpony jumped around the room and hovered at various points on the walls and floors, taking it all in. "You! You did _all_ this?" She zipped from place to place before plowing full speed at Sketch, nearly taking his head off, only stopping a few centimeters away from his muzzle. He was just completely flabbergasted at her reaction.

"You mean... you like all this?"

"Sketchy, look at what you did," she said, still taking it all in. "You drew all of this! This is just... beautiful." She was delighted to see that even the ceiling was littered with drawings. Scenery, ponies, famous and not, she was surprised there was things still left to draw. She just sat and marveled at everything- especially the ceiling. She beamed.

She... loved it.

Sketch found himself just staring at her happy face.

She loved it.

She...

"So I noticed most of these are of mares," she slyly taunted, giving him some bedroom eyes. "You sweet on someone? I bet they're all of french girls."

Sketch snapped back to reality as a result of her teasing and blushed. "No! I just... appreciate the artistic value of a mare's figure is all."

"Mhmm, sure." Trust said sarcastically, sifting through some loose papers.

"I'm serious!" Sketch shouted in defense. He scoffed. "There's just... no telling the elegance that a mare's capable of achieving. While stallions are pretty standard through and through, mares can make anything look good through their ingenuity, their creativity. We just pull stuff." Sketch was glad that she laughed at his summary. "I mean, you guys make fruit look good. And saddles, hats, jewelry, flowers, furniture..." Sketch paused, unsure whether or not he should say what he was going to say next. But just like she would, he threw caution to the wind and took a stab. It was just a simple compliment anyway. "...bat wings."

Trust instantly dropped a picture of Manehatten after she heard that. Her face became completely red as she struggled to grasp onto the two words that came out of that crazy pony's mouth.

He had basically just called her attractive. "Shut up!" she said, playfully punching him in the arm. Sketch felt the same exact pang of sadness that resonated when she was sounding out the letters on his door. _She thinks I'm... joking._

"Trust, I was... serious," he said, rubbing his arm. "Come on..."

She stared at him stupidly, like she couldn't understand what he meant. An awkward silence followed. When she was gazing around the room, something attracted all of her attention. She completely forgot everything that was happening, and she walked straight toward this artifact.

"Trust?"

Like a magnet, her hooves grabbed a single paper without herself controlling them. "This..." It was a drawing of a large dark mare with an airy ethereal mare surrounding her. Her appearance was dastardly, but she looked... sad somehow. When he drew it, Sketch didn't even mean to make her sad... it just kind of happened.

"She... looks familiar..." she said wistfully. "And... sad."

Sketch didn't appreciate the subject change, but there was something about her sudden connection that made him accept it. This looked important. "That's Nightmare Moon. She was Celestia's sister before she became mad from jealousy. I read about it in a book and... I just had to draw it."

"I feel like... I know her."

There was another silence. Sketch wanted to allow her to mull about it, but something occurred to him. Her mood was visibly deteriorating. And seeing her depressed, it didn't fit. It was upsetting. Trust should be happy. She was a happy pony.

"Okay, enough of this. Just wait here, I got something I think you'd love." Sketch left the room almost giddily, while Trust resisted the urge to ask him not to go...

* * *

"Damn... you're pretty good at this," Sketch yelped as Trust scored.

"Good? You're totally screwing _me_!" Trust deadpanned, setting down the paddle. They were playing this new virtual machine that simulated a form of tennis, strangely called "pong". Maybe it was table tennis? The dull green score was 23-12.

"Well considering it's your first time, you're very impressive." Sketched eyed her intently. "When I first got this I had no idea how it worked.

The game was still frozen, waiting for the input to start a new round. She looked and Sketch with a comically distant face. "Are we still talking about the game?"

They both laughed in unison for a few seconds, stopped, then laughed again. Casually, Sketch turned to the side and saw the clock on his wall, nearly hidden by canvases. It was 4:00 AM.

"Aw, dammit! My parents are going to be here soon, you gotta leave!"

"What?" Trust asked blankly. Sketch was already getting up and trying to put his things away, as some sort of childish habit. He realized his error before moving to window and opening it.

"You have to leave!"

"But..." Trust looked at the floor sadly. "I thought you didn't care I looked like a bat?"

Sketch stopped what he was doing and looked at her, confused. "What? Look like a...? Trust, I'm seventeen, it's four AM, you're a girl and in my room. I'm more concerned about that."

"...Oh."

Trust stood and walked hesitantly towards the open window and saw a chariot pull up. "Sketchy..."

"You'll come back, right?" Sketch interrupted, leaving Trust stunned silent. "This isn't the last time I'll see you. You can come at night or when my parents aren't here, and I'll cook you something just like today." Sketch's smiling face, it warmed Trust's heart for once. "Okay?"

Involuntarily, she smiled back. "Yeah." There was an air of hesitance, one that neither could have sense.

"Trust..." Sketch held her back again, as she almost dived out. His legs were shaking again. Adrenaline rushed to all of his extremities. Was he really going to do this? He had been planning it for a while, and she said she was going to come back, but he wasn't sure he believed that. The way she said yes was distant and insincere. "How old are you?"

"Uhh... Well I don't know exactly, but... I know I'm around nineteen, why?"

"Because..." He might not be able to do it again. "Because..." And he really, really wanted to. Abruptly, he pushed his muzzle forward into hers. She tried to shout, but it was muffled by his tongue. Sketch was _totally_ prepared to get his ass kicked, but the strangest thing happened. She pushed back. She closed her eyes and wrapped her legs around him and dug in further. They were both lost in each other, totally forgetting about their surroundings. And then Trust pulled back.

They locked eyes for just a moment or two. She asked "Why? I'm... weird."

Sketch smiled and held her himself. Smiling, he said, "Y'know I thought that, too. Until... I realized just how damn weird I was. I mean," he gestured to his room. "look at this crap. I've drawn so much stuff it could be considered obsessive, I sleep like a coffee drugged nine-year-old, and I own _that_." He pointed to the Pong machine dramatically. "And you know what? That may not be such a bad thing..."

They both stared in each others eyes. It's all they wanted to do. They heard a door slam below them. Trust chuckled and backed away, looking to the side. "Yeah, I should leave." Her words shot through sketch like a bolt of electricity. It was certainly enough to floor a stallion.

Trust jumped out the window and expertly landed on the ground with almost no effort. He couldn't just let her walk away now, he couldn't bare the feeling. It was like he was loosing her... He had to do something, something to bring her back, if not today then eventually. Something that would prove how much he wanted her to be there. Something clicked in his brain. "Wait!" he yelled out the window.

"WHAT?!" she yelled with a hint of frustration..

Sketch dove towards his desk. Nearly ripping the drawers off its mechanism. In panic, he grabbed a certain piece, one that he was sure to hide from her as soon as it was done. It was meant to be for him, but now he felt she needed it more than he ever would. "I drew this when you were napping! I want you to have it!"

He tossed a small canvas down. Picking it up, she almost stopped breathing. On the canvas, there was a perfectly rendered Trust with pegasus wings standing aside a very joyous Sketch with batwings and fangs. They were holding each other with one of their forelegs and laughing innocently.

And... it was just perfect.

"I LOVE IT!" Trust yelled at the top of her lungs, not caring if anyone would hear. "Hahahaah! I LOVE IT!" Once more she glanced at it, focusing at Sketch's uncharacteristically playful smile. Under her breath, she repeated. "I... love it." No one has ever done this for her. Hell, she had never done anything like this for herself. She nearly shed a tear, and to save face, she turned away.

Trust flew away while hugging the momento, smiling harder than she ever had. "I love it."

Sketch made sure to watch her every second he could. As she became smaller and smaller towards the horizon, Sketch exhaled, hanging out of the window in blissful silence. It took him time to suss out what the hell just happened in the past seven hours that led up to all of these... feelings... Something that has yet to happen in the past six years.

And it was...

Weird. Yes, that was it. Weird.

* * *

And that's how the average son of an average family found out just how odd he truly was. Ignorance was embraced and coincidence was loved. The slow monotony of everyday life being sawed off in favor of the unusual, that's what made life worth living. He would no longer try to be someone he's not for the sake of others. Because one thing became increasingly obvious. Being weird?

It's fun.

But as they say, it's all fun and games... until someone gets hurt.


End file.
